Ghost Girl
by tjal
Summary: Short story format. OC. In a world of shinobi, what happens to those that slip through the cracks? What world skulks in the underbellies of the villages? For Ryukage, that world isn't just a dream. It's his life.


Ghost Girl  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

The little girl loitering on the corner was beautiful in her own way, if seemingly rowdy. Her dark brown hair was obviously finger-combed and still tangled in places, while her clothes had seen better days. But her vivid emerald eyes were sparkling and bright as she observed the goings on around her with great interest. She seemed content to watch the interactions of people -- of people rushing off to some appointment, of couples that strolled the path with a lazy disinterest, and of venders that hawked their goods, trying to sell their last wares before the market day ended. In the dusk, it seemed odd for a young girl to still be about and by herself, but the villagers knew that the lengthening shadows brought with them fancies that flitted through the minds, as illusory and transient as the clouds.

So it was with the girl. One moment she'd be there, and the next, as if a strong wind had blown her out, she was gone, melting back into the darkness of the alley. The vender of the roasted chestnuts barely noticed the waif that hung around his stall, intent as he was on getting the shopper to buy his wares. It was only when the shopper stormed off in disgust after being asked to pay for an empty bag that the vender realized his entire stall had been raided and was now devoid of food. And when he looked for the culprit, there was naught to be seen but a few wisps of smoke that dissipated before his eyes.

And just as he was about to raise the alarm, another cry of despair echoed through the market. The jewelry peddler had lost track of where her prized sapphire necklace had gone. In the confusion and turmoil, no one noticed the smoke that winded in and out of the crowd nor the end of the incessant jangling of coins hitting the side of a cup.

In the wake of the trail of smoke, ol' Hiro, the one-legged beggar with rotting teeth and a wrinkled face, stared in gap-toothed disbelief at his now empty cup. Futilely shaking it a few times upside down, he hurled the cup into the nearby gutter and with a howl, flung himself into the fray, grabbing at any wares he could and stuffing it into the rags around his body. As venders tried to rescue their wares and beat off the unruly crowd, the market descended into chaos and it became a free-for-all.

It was only later that the villagers would notice their purses had become lighter, and everyone would blame each other for the loss of their money.

In the alley way, Ryukage grinned and with a swipe of his sleeve, wiped off the tell-tale flecks of chestnuts around his mouth. With a handful of coins in both hands and a sapphire necklace wrapped around his right, he carefully hid it in his clothes then made his way cautiously down the path, easily side-stepping the piles of trash and broken glass. Pausing before a particularly big pile of trash, he cheerfully picked up a half-eaten sandwich then after adjusting his pants, proceeded to urinate on the trash. As he continued down the road, he munched thoughtfully on the sandwich and reflected that this village seemed as good as a place as any to stay a while.

And so it was that the Sound village got its first encounter with the Ghost Girl.

Notes: Written originally for an rp char. I've wondered about the dark side of living in a ninja village or even just the world of Naruto. The Haku arc touched on it and maybe Gaara's story does too, but I'm talking more the grimy, the pathetic, the impoverished side, not the ninja aspect really. People write stories of great jutsus and battles between villages... but what about those left behind? Those that are mangled, lose their homes, those that were born in the streets -- for whatever reason, some random combination of events, they end up slipping through the cracks much like Ryukage did. And what world would flourish in the underbellies of the villages?

Short story format. OC.


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